


A Different Kind Of Danger

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Healing from trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Post MSF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She’s fine. Nothing like what Bobbi had been. Not even close.</i> </p>
<p>Jemma and Bobbi finally have a talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind Of Danger

**Author's Note:**

> From the anon prompt: "Jemma talks to Bobbi about her torture in 3x09 and Bobbi tells her about her own torture and they help eachother out." 
> 
> A part of the series 'Jemma really needs to talk about her trauma', can be read as following off of [Feather-Light](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5467586) (maysimmons) and [But Maybe Not Tonight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5605663) (fitzsimmons)

Jemma’s toes are cold, and she wishes desperately that she could tuck them up under her on the couch, but she can only move in certain ways without her cracked ribs protesting. Now that she’s paying attention she realizes her whole body is shivering, and she briefly regrets getting out of bed. It was uncomfortable, but at least it was warm. 

It didn’t have tea, though. She brings the mug up to her lips for a sip and tries to hold the smile on her face, but it falls away after a few seconds and she doesn’t have the energy to fight it. The base is eerily quiet this late at night, so it’s easy to tell someone else has gotten up, their soft footsteps heading toward the kitchen. 

She listens, anxiety buzzing in her chest for no reason she can name, as they make themselves a drink, cup clanking against the counter, microwave beeping. It must be Bobbi or Daisy. May wouldn’t be so noisy, Mack is too heavy for the soft sounds, and they’re using the microwave to heat water rather than the kettle. 

She hopes it’s not Bobbi. She hasn’t spoken to her since getting examined when they first got back to base, and even then she’d had May as a sort of buffer. She’s not sure what she would say to her, how to act. Bobbi had been so gentle with her even as she fussed through the examination, fingers light and deft and voice full of concern. Jemma felt so bad for worrying her. 

She doesn’t know why Bobbi even bothered, she wasn’t that bad off. She has a few minor injuries, but nothing anyone should be worried over. She’s fine. Nothing like what Bobbi had been. Not even close. 

Even lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t miss the approaching footsteps, her whole body clenching painfully as the sound echoes through the doorway. She knows it’s one of her teammates, but her mind briefly catches upon the idea that it will be someone hostile. She tries to shoo the thought away, but even so she doesn’t relax until she can make out Bobbi’s outline in the door, stopping short with a quiet “oh”. 

Bobbi smiles at her, a shy, tired thing. She’s dressed in a tank top and Star Wars pajama bottoms, hair tumbling around her shoulders. “I didn’t know anyone else was up,” she says, voice a little hoarse, and takes a sip of her drink, which smells of chocolate. 

Jemma doesn’t know what to say, so she just smiles back and tips her own drink up. 

Bobbi nods, still standing in the doorway. It’s a little awkward, like Bobbi isn’t sure whether to stay or go, how much space to give her. Jemma hopes she’ll leave, even though she doesn’t feel right being alone right now. She’s afraid Bobbi will try to talk to her about what happened with Hydra. Fitz had seemed to think talking to Bobbi would be a good thing, but Jemma doesn’t agree. Bobbi doesn’t need that right now, doesn’t need to be coddling Jemma when she has her own things to deal with. 

Bobbi takes a small step forward. “Do you mind if I sit?” 

Something tightens in Jemma’s chest. “Go ahead.” 

Bobbi sinks beside her with a sigh, and for a few minutes they just drink in silence. Bobbi’s warmth next to her is more soothing than it ought to be, but Jemma lets herself enjoy it, tries to let her head quiet against the tide of nervous thoughts that always seem to be washing through it. It almost works, until Bobbi clears her throat and turns to face her on the couch, fingers tapping out a slow beat on her mug. Jemma steels herself, eyes forward. 

“Are you … okay?” Bobbi seems to immediately regret the choice of words, grimacing to herself and shaking her head. “I mean, I know things aren’t okay and I know you aren’t okay. I just want to know how you’re handling everything. Especially … you know. What happened.” 

“Agent Morse-“ 

“Please, don’t.” Bobbi cuts her off, eyebrows drawn. “Don’t ‘Agent Morse’ me right now. You’re my friend, Jemma, and I really want to know.” 

“Bobbi,” she corrects. Her mouth opens and closes, brain working around a million and one ways to get out of this conversation. None of them seem to want to make the journey out of her, stuck somewhere in the hollow of her throat, pinching and cold. She sets her mug down to stall, then regrets it and picks it back up, fingers gripping tight around the handle. 

Bobbi starts to nod, staring down at her own mug. She looks a little put out, and Jemma feels a wave of guilt wash over her. “You don’t have to talk about it with me if it makes you uncomfortable,” Bobbi is saying, still not looking at her, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be pushing you. It’s late and … We don’t have to talk about this.” 

“No!” She’s surprised how strongly the word comes out, almost a shout, and she hastens to lower the volume of her voice as Bobbi starts. “No, I’m sorry I didn’t mean- Look, I just-“ There’s a frustrated grumble at the back of her throat, and she mentally kicks herself because Bobbi had given her the perfect out and she didn’t take it. She’s mostly sure she doesn’t want to talk about this, least of all with Bobbi, and not now, and yet she can’t help the words spilling out of her. “It’s just hard. That’s all. I’m not really sure how to … how to deal with all this.” 

Bobbi takes a sip of her hot chocolate, watching Jemma softly, shoulders relaxing. “The talking, or … the other stuff?” 

“Mm. Yes.” 

That pulls a dry laugh out of Bobbi, and she takes the time to finish her drink before she speaks again. “It’s hard. Really hard, especially at first.” 

Jemma’s mind helpfully flashes back to just how hard it was for Bobbi in the beginning; her pale face, the smell of iron, the shrill tone of a flatline ringing in her ears. Yet here she is, three days later, sitting on the sofa drinking tea. It doesn’t seem the same. All she does is nod. 

“Have you talked to anyone yet?” There’s a hopeful note in her voice, and Jemma feels like it’s misplaced faith, but she nods again. 

“May, very briefly. And Fitz too.” 

“Good.” Bobbi gives her a genuine smile, which sinks to the bottom of Jemma’s stomach like an anchor. “That’s so good, Jemma. I’m proud of you.” 

Jemma’s eyes dart up to meet Bobbi’s, momentarily off-kilter by the affection she finds there. “I haven’t done anything.” A little part of her is screaming that this is wrong, that Bobbi should be disappointed or angry with her, but she’s distracted by the quirk of Bobbi’s lips, by the way she glances at Jemma’s knee like she wants to reach out and rest her hand there. Jemma sits her mug down again and leaves it there this time, suddenly not sure she can stomach another sip. 

“You’ve done a lot more than you might realize right now. Opening up about it is a huge step, you should be proud you were able to make it, much less this soon.” She shifts against the back of the couch, voice lowering. “Honestly, I was worried you were going to keep trying to hide it from all of us.” 

“I’m not hiding.” Jemma doesn’t know why she feels breathless, like just uttering the words took all the strength she had left, so she turns away to try and pull herself together, biting the inside of her lip, skin burning. 

“I know.” Bobbi studies the side of her face and then, very slowly, reaches up to wipe a tear off Jemma’s cheek. 

The contact shakes something loose in Jemma’s chest and suddenly she needs to be closer to her, wrapped up tight in Bobbi’s arms until she can’t feel herself shaking anymore, but her ribs twinge at the thought of moving so she settles for catching Bobbi’s wrist instead, holding her hand in place. Bobbi caresses her cheek and Jemma’s throat gets caught around a gasp, more tears springing to her eyes. 

She should be stronger than this. Bobbi doesn’t need to be around her, doesn’t need to be reminded of what she went through, of how much she struggled. She doesn’t need to be comforting Jemma when she’s already walking around like she’s fine, already trying to move on from the whole ordeal. It isn’t fair, that Bobbi has suffered so much (so much more than Jemma has) and yet she’s the one offering support. 

And it’s sad, frankly, how fast Jemma crumbled. 

Bobbi lifts her other hand to lightly trace Jemma’s jawline, and she leans into it, a little sob spilling out of her, tightening her hold on Bobbi’s wrist though she doesn’t mean to. 

“I’m sorry, I’m being silly,” she manages, tears salty on her lips. 

“You’re not,” Bobbi assures her, nothing but fondness in her gaze. “What you went through was really tough, any reaction you have is not silly. And believe me, you’re handling it very well.” 

“I feel out of control.” 

“It’ll feel like that for a while. Things will hit you out of nowhere and sometimes it’s all you can do to just hold on. But know that you’re in good company.” Bobbi ducks her head so that Jemma is looking at her, and if her vision wasn’t so blurry from tears she’d think Bobbi was getting glassy eyed too. “Okay? You’re not alone in this.”

Jemma hiccups and then clutches frantically at her ribs with her free hand, the motion sending spasms through her torso. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” she says, because despite her desperation for Bobbi to be close to her, the guilt is gnawing at her stomach. She needs to get ahold of herself. 

“What are you talking about?” Bobbi asks, confusion written into the line of her eyebrows. 

“I shouldn’t be pulling you into this. It’s not your responsibility- You’ve already-“ She takes a deep breath, trying to slow her frantic heartbeat and the tide of tears that stream down her face and onto Bobbi’s fingers. “You’re doing so well, and here I am going to drag things back up. It’s not fair to you.” 

“I get to decide that.” Her words are firm, but her fingers stroke gently across Jemma’s face. “When they first brought me back you were there for me, right by my side. I’m gonna make damn sure I’m there for you too.” 

“You don’t have to, though.” Jemma can’t stress this enough. She doesn’t want Bobbi to be here out of any sort of obligation, like she’s just paying back a favor. She knows how much this must hurt. She can’t do this too her, she’s not sure she can handle it. “I get it if you’re not, I really do.” 

Bobbi chews on her lip. Jemma wants to chide her for it, because Bobbi gets onto her about the same thing. For a moment she feels almost normal. Just for a moment. 

“I think … it would help me.” Bobbi admits, hesitant. “Just, knowing someone else understands. And I- I wish, more than anything, that you didn’t. But I think it’ll be good—for both of us—talking about this.” 

Jemma shakes her head, pressed between Bobbi’s palms. “I can’t promise I understand what you went through. It’s not even in the same category.” 

“It is, though.” 

She wants to protest, but Bobbi sounds so certain. She still feels guilt pooling heavy in the bottom of her stomach, like she’s accepting comfort that doesn’t belong to her, but she doesn’t know if she could tear herself away now. She feels so weak, like Bobbi’s hands on either side of her face are the only things holding her up, like Bobbi’s warmth is the only warmth she has in her whole body. 

“You can’t keep justifying or quantifying that, Jemma. You were tortured. So was I. That’s really all there is to it.” 

Jemma can’t help but let go of a few small sobs, despite the pain that brackets her body with the action, and she presses forward. Bobbi leans in until their foreheads are touching, and she can feel the light ghosts of Bobbi’s breath on her lips. Tears sparkle on their cheeks. 

“And it’s not okay,” Bobbi continues, sounding choked, “and you don’t have to be okay. But we’ll get there, eventually. Yeah?” 

Bobbi sounds like she’s genuinely asking, so Jemma nods, the words too stuck up in her throat, moving their foreheads against each other. She doesn’t know what she did to deserve Bobbi, but she’s certain she would fight with everything she has left for this woman. She moves her hand to clutch at the front of Bobbi’s shirt, holding them both down like an anchor. 

Eventually she gets her throat working again. “I don’t think I’m okay.” 

“I know.” 

“I should be but I’m not.” 

Bobbi pulls back and Jemma feels it like a bucket of cold water, but Bobbi doesn’t seem like she’s willing to break contact either, rubbing the tear tracks off Jemma’s cheeks, smoothing back her hair. “Why do you think you should be okay?” 

She doesn’t know how to put it to words (not any that Bobbi would like) so she just shrugs, and then regrets it as a sharp pain jumps through her torso. A whimper falls out of her mouth without her permission and Bobbi grips her a little tighter. 

“Did someone say something to you?” 

“No, no,” Jemma hastens to add, because Bobbi looks like she’s ready to hunt down anyone who had, and she curls her fist around Bobbi’s tank top. “I just … I don’t know. I can’t get that out of my head.” 

Bobbi nods. For a while she’s quiet, and Jemma wonders what she’s said wrong. 

“You’re so strong, Jemma,” she settles on, which is not what Jemma had been expecting. “You really are one of the strongest people I know. But even you need time to heal. And this is going to take time, it won’t get better in a day, or because of one conversation. You can’t beat yourself up for that.” 

“I know,” Jemma says, letting herself press into Bobbi’s palm. “I really do know that, logically. It’s just …” 

“Hard to _know_?” 

“Yeah.” 

Bobbi smiles at her, despite the tears that are still shining in her eyes. “Well then I’ll know it for you. And I’ll keep reminding you, if you need me to.” 

Jemma sniffles, fights her first instinct to wave away the offer. “I think that would be good.” 

“Yeah? Okay.” Bobbi’s eyes roam over her face. “I hope you know you can come to me whenever you need to. About this, but about anything else too.” 

Jemma laughs, just a small chuckle, but it feels nice. “You’re too good to me, Bobbi.” 

“Not nearly as good as you deserve.” She’s smiling, but she sounds serious, and there’s a fresh wave of tears on Jemma’s face but she feels so much lighter and so grateful. She tugs on Bobbi’s shirt until she scoots forward, and then tilts her head to rest in the crook of Bobbi’s neck, arm wrapping around her middle. 

Bobbi presses a kiss to her hair and Jemma lets out a shaky sigh. 

“Thank you.” 

“Anytime.” 

Bobbi eventually falls asleep like that, wrapped loosely around Jemma. Jemma still isn’t okay, not by a long shot, but the journey to get there seems a little less daunting than it did earlier in the night. Her ribs hurt, her face is still slick from tears, and her neck is probably going to get a crick, but she’s content to sit there, listening to Bobbi’s heartbeat, for a while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> we all need a bobbi in our lives. but jemma more than most


End file.
